The remaining thirteen men each took a step back. Fang Pingzhai stood with a fan in his right hand and his left hand hanging loosely, four snowflake-like curved blades pinched between his fingers, a faint smile on his face. The Hungry Ghost Monk clutched his chest, barely managing to speak, "He—he actually... hidden weapon..." Before he could finish, he collapsed backward. The others paled as they saw half of a petal-shaped throwing knife protruding from a vital point on his chest. It turned out Fang Pingzhai had used four blades to divert their attention while a single strike had critically wounded the Hungry Ghost Monk, depriving the Seventeen Shaolin Monks of their leader.
The curled-edge throwing knives, about an inch long, were as white as snow and shaped like flower petals. The "Lonely Monk" among the Seventeen Shaolin Monks changed expression—this weapon seemed vaguely familiar. Who in the martial world could wield such a unique hidden weapon with such skill? Fang Pingzhai laughed heartily after his strike. The "Living Monk" brandished his monastic blade with ruthless precision, while the "Endless Suffering Monk" unleashed his formidable boxing techniques. In an instant, five Shaolin monks surrounded Fang Pingzhai, each executing their ultimate techniques.
Fang Pingzhai sent his white blades flying through the air, swirling like snowflakes or falling petals—a breathtaking sight. The blades flipped and danced with the wind, returning to his hand after their momentum waned. With each flick of his wrist, more white blades filled the air. The Shaolin monks fought desperately, but nearly a hundred white blades crisscrossed like a blizzard. Despite their formidable skills, the Seventeen Shaolin Monks found themselves overwhelmed, unable to keep up.
Liu Yan’s flute music shifted from sorrowful to piercing, like a lament reaching its climax or a heart-wrenching cry finally released. The notes climbed higher and higher, echoing into the clouds. Fang Pingzhai’s blade techniques never faltered. With a cry, another Shaolin monk spat blood and collapsed.
A Shui let out a soft sigh. It seemed Liu Yan wouldn’t be taken away today. The longer the fight dragged on, the more the Shaolin monks lost ground—Fang Pingzhai was indeed a master. Just then, Yu Tuan'er, immobilized on the ground, suddenly vomited a mouthful of blood. As Liu Yan’s flute rose higher, she coughed up another gush, her face deathly pale, her breath faint.
"Xiao Bai—" Fang Pingzhai turned abruptly. The "Lonely Monk," "Intermediate Existence Monk," and "Wailing Monk" seized the moment, their sleeves billowing as they deflected the flying blades. With a shout, the three unleashed a combined palm strike—"Compassion Without Resentment"—aimed at Fang Pingzhai’s back. Fang Pingzhai countered with a sweep of his hand, but the "Hell Monk," "Beast Monk," and "Human Monk" attacked from three angles, targeting his upper, middle, and lower body.
Trapped between front and rear, Fang Pingzhai twisted like a fish, slipping sideways. The "Asura Monk" at his side seized the opportunity, thrusting his sword toward Fang Pingzhai’s chest.
Inside the room, white blades danced through the air. Just as Fang Pingzhai found himself in peril, the flute music—subtly intertwined with his movements—suddenly stopped. In that instant, the Seventeen Shaolin Monks regained their vigor and strength. Fang Pingzhai hesitated for a split second, and in that moment, the sword before him surged forward, aiming for his life.
With nimble footwork, he barely dodged left, but palm shadows flickered around him. The moment the flute ceased and the sword missed, three dull thuds sounded in succession—Fang Pingzhai took three palm strikes, spat blood, and broke free, spinning into the air before landing in front of Liu Yan.A Shui trembled all over. She knew Liu Yan had stopped playing his flute because Yu Tuan'er could no longer withstand the Sound Assassination Technique. Fang Pingzhai had been injured as a result, yet bore no resentment. Though these three were not renowned heroes of the martial world, they were people of genuine passion and courage.
"Amitabha. Since Benefactor Fang is already injured, you should understand that today you cannot stop us from inviting Benefactor Liu back to Shaolin Temple for a discussion. If you continue to obstruct us, we will no longer be able to hold back," the Heavenly Monk said, pressing his palms together. "Step aside."
"Haha, he's my master now. If I just let some bald monks take him away, wouldn't that make me, Fang Pingzhai, seem utterly incompetent and humiliated? Besides, I've always clashed with Shaolin Temple. It's hardly the first time Shaolin monks have been unable to hold back against me." Fang Pingzhai waved his fan with a laugh, his demeanor as elegant as ever. The monks exchanged glances, each silently wondering when their temple had ever had any conflict with him. None could recall.
"In that case, Asura must offend." The Asura Monk executed a sword move called "Heart Like Flowing Water," the tip of his blade aiming for Fang Pingzhai's left shoulder. He had noticed Fang Pingzhai's left hand was exceptionally skilled with hidden weapons. To stop the flurry of snow-white blades, he had to injure Fang Pingzhai's left arm first. Fang Pingzhai sent four blades flying, while the Asura Monk's sword flickered like blossoms, clashing with all four blades in rapid succession. In that brief moment, two monks darted forward like phantoms, seizing Liu Yan by both arms. Fang Pingzhai's fan swept out like a blade, its crimson feathers slicing across the monks' arms, sending blood gushing forth. Seven or eight snow-white blades embedded themselves halfway into the monks' bodies. Yet, even as Fang Pingzhai flung blades with his left hand and swung his fan with his right, two arms reached out from his sides, fingers transforming into a thousand flowers and leaves, striking several of his major acupoints. Fang Pingzhai, still smiling, slowly leaned back and collapsed against the table, falling into the grasp of the "Lonely Monk" behind him.
His defeat was truly unjust. Had he faced the Seventeen Shaolin Monks alone, even if he couldn't win, he could certainly have escaped. But Liu Yan couldn't walk, and Yu Tuan'er lay severely wounded on the ground, hampering his movements. Seeing Fang Pingzhai captured, Liu Yan slammed the table with a loud "bang" and said coldly, "Release him!"
"We cannot withstand Benefactor Liu's Sound Assassination Technique. Without Benefactor Fang in our grasp, even if Shaolin Temple sent seventeen more men, we still wouldn't be able to invite Benefactor Liu back to discuss important matters." The Heavenly Monk lifted Fang Pingzhai. "With your friend here, we ask Benefactor Liu to exercise some patience on the journey and refrain from playing the flute." Liu Yan clenched his hands, snapping his bamboo flute in two with a sharp "crack." "Release him." The Heavenly Monk was taken aback. He had assumed Liu Yan was a villain of the worst sort, and even with Fang Pingzhai and Yu Tuan'er as hostages, safety wasn't guaranteed. Yet Liu Yan had broken his flute without hesitation. "This..."
"Release him, and I'll go back with you," Liu Yan said icily. "He has done none of the so-called heinous deeds Shaolin accuses him of, nor has he killed indiscriminately or committed atrocities. On what grounds does Shaolin Temple take him?" The Heavenly Monk was left speechless. "Well..." The Wailing Monk, more quick-witted, interjected, "We only ask Benefactor Fang to accompany us back to Shaolin Temple. Once we reach the third gate, we will release him immediately. How does that sound?" Liu Yan snorted. "If you harm so much as a single hair on his head, Shaolin Temple will have to decide for itself whether what it receives is the antidote to the Ape-Demon Nine Hearts Pill or a poison that kills upon contact.""Then it's settled. Come back with us." The Heavenly Monk immediately reached out to apprehend him. "Shaolin Temple does not speak falsehoods." Liu Yan closed his eyes and remained motionless as the Heavenly Monk and another monk lifted him up, preparing to leave. At that moment, a dark shadow flashed, and a trembling figure blocked the doorway—disheveled long hair, a sword in hand, her chest soaked in blood. "St...stop..."
A Shui, holding Feng Feng, immediately rushed over and stood beside the figure. "Yu Guniang..."
The one standing sword-in-hand at the door was none other than Yu Tuan'er, gravely wounded and on the verge of collapse. Seeing Fang Pingzhai captured and Liu Yan about to be taken away, she had suddenly risen to her feet. The sword in her hand had been bought for her by Fang Pingzhai not long ago, and she had barely learned any swordplay. Now, gripping the sword, she coughed weakly and murmured, "Who...whoever wants to take them away...will have to step over my body first..." As she spoke, blood dripped from her robes onto the ground, drop by drop, each landing with a distinct sound.
"Amitabha. We bear no intent to harm. Please step aside, young lady," the Heavenly Monk said, pressing his palms together. "Your injuries are severe. You must not exert yourself. Please sit and meditate, calm your spirit..." Yu Tuan'er's sword trembled with a hum as she pointed it at the Heavenly Monk. "Old monk...spouting nonsense...every word...a lie...give him...give them back...to me..." The blood on her sword was all her own.
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